Darkness. He liked the dark. Not so dark where he couldn't see, though. Just… dim. Very dim. Only one small lamp was on in the corner of the room. He poured himself a shot of bourbon. He knocked it back. He poured himself another. He knocked it back just as quickly as the first. Going over to his stereo, he selected a Metallica CD. The volume was loud enough so that he could hear, but not so loud as to disturb his neighbors.
Going over to his dresser, he pulled out the glass vial, the tightly rolled dollar bill, and the razor. He sat on his knees in front of the glass coffee table. Pouring out the white, powdery substance, he deftly began cutting it with the razor. When he was satisfied with his work, he separated it into three rows. With a grim grin of satisfaction, he bent over the table, putting the rolled up bill to his right nostril. He held the other down with his index finger. He noticed that he could faintly see his reflection in the glass. He looked at the thin, drawn face and the seemingly hollowed eyes. He did not recognize this man. With a hardened gaze, he snorted each line with care, breathing in deeply. He held his head back for a moment and closed his eyes. He felt like singing.
"Here I am." He whispered with the song. His mouth began moving to the rest of the lyrics, but no sound came out.
Rubbing his pale, long fingers up and down his thighs, he contemplated what to do next. After a moment, he slowly got up and headed back to the bourbon. Three more shots were had. Feeling hot, he took off his shirt and tossed it to the side. He flopped down upon the bed onto his back, staring listlessly at the off white ceiling. There were no cracks or any other obvious imperfections on it, so he closed his eyes and went to sleep. Or perhaps, he merely passed out.